Seeing Stars
by WhatHaveWeDone
Summary: I can't give summary without spoiling the first chapter, so you'll just have to read it. It's quite short, don't worry. But consider that I haven't hurt our boys in a while...
1. Chapter 1

**I've had this idea for a while, but last night I was woken and kept awake by a combination of seagulls and toothache, so this is the product of 3am writing. Which why it may be a bit weird, but I think it fits with what's going on in the chapter. As always, comments etc give me joy! Happy reading.**

* * *

Light.

Light hurt.

His eyes weren't even open but he could still feel it curling under the edges of his eyelids. Sending a wave of pain over him. Like brain freeze.

He didn't know where he was.

He was lying down, fairly comfortable. He could here faint rustles, the odd footstep. The sound of someone else moving about. A soft hum that would be some sort of electronics.

There was a blanket over him. He wasn't cold.

The light hurt. So did his arm, a sharp ache near his elbow. It was mostly the light though. And the headache it caused.

He should open his eyes. He had been lying here for who-knows-how-long in who-knows-where, with who-knows-who rustling nearby. He should fill in the blanks.

But it would hurt. It hurt anyway and he felt vulnerable. Vulnerable not knowing. With Rustler in the room.

He opened his eyes, just a crack. Just enough for the light to pour in. Yes, as expected it hurt. _Ow_ _ow_ _ow_ _._ The light seared him, making it difficult to think. But it hurt anyway. Just as much. Still.

It took several goes before his eyes adjusted enough to stay open. To stay open long enough to take anything in.

He was in some sort of... room.

 _Great powers of observation there_ he congratulated himself sarcastically.

A hospital maybe? There were stainless steel cabinets lining the walls, and a large worktop on which sat bandages and instruments and things he felt he should recognise but didn't. There was a …. heart monitor... by his head. It showed his heart was beating. That was good.

 _You really are rocking this._

And a tube going from his arm to a hanging bag. Right. Needle in arm. That's why that hurt then.

One wall was covered with posters that appeared to be checklists for various types of injury. It also had an xray of a skull. That was a good looking skull, as far as skulls go. As far as he could tell from here. He couldn't see any detail, his vision wasn't clear.

Thinking was hard. Thinking hurt almost as much as the light did.

It might have been the small movements he made looking around the room, or a change in his breathing, but it attracted the attention of the room's other occupant. The Rustler. He had been standing at the worktop rustling away but was now approaching the bedside. He pulled a stool over and sat with a small smile.

"Hey" he said, softly.

"Hey." He replied. It seemed like the thing to say.

"You've been out for about three hours, I was starting to get really worried. How do you feel?"

He thought about it. Really thought about it, and answered honestly.

"My head hurts." A simple way to describe needles wiggling their way through his brain. But more complicated words were beyond him.

The dark haired man gave a snort of amusement. "Yeah, no shit. You have a small skull fracture but no other broken bones. Do you feel nauseas at all? Dizzy?"

"No. Tired though."

The man checked the machine that was recording his heart beat and nodded "That's to be expected." He rolled up the sleeves of his red checked shirt, and pulled out his phone from his jeans pocket. He typed.

"I'll let the others know you're awake, but don't worry I won't let them all rush you at the same time."

"Thanks, nurse."

No, he wasn't a nurse. Not in those clothes.

"Anything for my favourite patient." He smiled. "I've got to do a few checks." A pen appeared in his hand, that he had been storing behind his ear. He moved it from one side to another. "Follow it." He instructed.

He tried his best, but his focus felt a little off.

"Not too bad – blurred vision?"

"A bit."

He used the pen to make a note in a small notebook.

"And todays date."

The date. Of today. He thought. Thinking was hard with stabbing brain freeze. At his hesitation the Rustler frowned in concern. "Day of the week?"

It felt like a Monday. There's was something about waking up with an i.v. in your arm and a pounding head that screamed Monday morning. But maybe it was Saturday. As this would be an awful way to spend the weekend but would indicate he had had a very good Friday night.

At his lack of response the man stood, bending to peer down and look him in the eye, telling him "It's Thursday."

Oh. Really? It didn't feel like a Thursday.

"What's my name? Do you know where you are?" Increasing concern was written across the Rustler's face as he asked those were some very simple, very easy, very basic questions. Even with his brain on fire those would require no thought.

 _Should_ require no thought.

"I'm in hospital?" He had started out that short sentence confident, but ended it with a question. This didn't really _feel_ like a hospital. There were no windows in the room. No uniform on his... no, this man wasn't a nurse. "This isn't a hospital." The machine beside him was surely recording his increase in heart rate. Why would he be unconscious for three hours and not be in hospital?

"No you aren't in hospital. You're at home. Do you know where that is? And your name?"

Home had an almost-hospital room? _Weird_. He shook his head.

He instantly regretted shaking his head, the needling, stabbing, fiery cold peaking with the swift movement. He gave a grunt of pain and screwed his eyes closed again until it passed.

Before the Rustler had been calm, and that had helped him stay calm. But now Rustler sighed and creased his brow in a frown of worry.

He felt his chest heaving, scared now. Very worried now that Rustler looked worried.

Worried that he didn't know the answers. He should know what day it was, he should know where he lived, he should know _his own name._ The man was on the phone again, speaking this time, tone urgent.

"Scott, get down here. Now. …... I don't care if it's in pieces across the hanger floor. I need you." The man paused a second. He saw the readings. Saw his rapidly rising heart rate. Saw the expression on his face. His headache was almost forgotten now, quashed by the panic that was taking over instead.

"Get here." The man finished the call and flung the phone on the surface.

Rustler took him by the shoulders, grip firm but not too tight . He leant down slightly to say – calmly - "You're name is John and it's going to be ok. I've got you."


	2. Chapter 2

_**So now I try and wrangle my early hours rambling turns into something half coherent. Good luck me.**_

* * *

"It's not ok. How can this possibly be ok?" He – John – demanded.

"It might not seem like it now, but trust me. We'll be right with you. I'm Virgil and..."

John interrupted "Trust you? But I don't even know you."

Maybe he shouldn't have said that, by the look of hurt that passed over the man's face. He hadn't meant to, somehow hurting this man cut to his heart. But it was a simple fact, he _didn't_ know this Virgil person. He wished he did. He wished that there was some flicker of recognition to comfort him against the blank that was yesterday.

"Sorry... I didn't mean... I just.."

John took a deep breath, to gather his thoughts and apologise for forgetting. Not that he could help it. Or maybe he could have: he didn't know what happened to him after all. How he had come to be lying here with no memory before waking up. No name, nothing about how he got here. Nothing about anything. Nothing about himself.

He tried to take a deep breath but his lungs wouldn't fill properly. He tried again, to steady himself, but this time it was worse, his chest feeling too small for his body. Suddenly the previously cool room was too warm and stuffy, the air close and heavy like before a tropical storm. It was uncomfortable and the next breath ended in a wheeze. As did the next. And the next. Coming quicker now, and each one was shallower than the last. A tight band appeared around his ribs: first it was firm and then it started to squeeze. His chest was in a tightening vice. His heart was pounding, he could hear his pulse, feel it in his fingers and toes.

 _Shit._

This was a panic attack. How did he know that when he didn't even know his _damn name?_ That sort of thinking wasn't helping but he couldn't help himself. His headache was getting worse and now black spots were appearing in front of his eyes. Between his gasps and wheezes he was barely getting any oxygen at all. The machine beside him sounded an alarm. Blood pressure rising. Heart rate climbing. Respiration too rapid. Sweat formed on his brow, his back, even behind his knees.

His vision was closing in, darkening. His peripheral vision was gone. He could see the far side of the room – just, apart from some blurriness – but nothing to either side. _Shit._

The Rustler – Virgil – was talking. But it was difficult to hear. Difficult to focus. To separate words from the rushing of blood and from the needling at the back of his head.

Something was placed over his mouth and nose. Air flowed. Oxygen. It was an oxygen mask. It was helping. A bit. His vision cleared again as the darkness retreated. But his heart and breathing were just as fast. The bands around his chest still tightening.

"Listen to me" John could now make out Virgil saying. "Breathe with me. In. And Out. In. And Out."

He was trying. But he had no control. No knowledge. No control.

"In. And Out. Just slow it down for me John. Just a bit. I can give you something if you need it."

John managed to shake his head. He didn't want drugs. He just wanted to know. He wanted to breath.

Virgil had one hand on his chest, the other clasping John's hand. "No drugs then. You can do this. Just take one deep breath for me. Just one. Only one."

One. He could do one. Surely. He fought against the spasms in his chest to fully expand his lungs. Just once. Then the shallow quick breathes returned.

"Good, that's good. Now do it again."

Just once? _Liar._ But he complied. With Virgil's gentle encouragement over the next fifteen minutes John took more and more deep breathes. Took back control. The imaginary band across his chest loosened, though it left a very real ache behind. His breathing and heart rate slowed right down to only slightly faster than normal levels.

Virgil was just removing the oxygen mask – one handed, still clasping John with the other - when the door opened. A tall dark haired man entered. He moved with a brisk stride and had a commanding yet reassuring presence. He managed to exude confidence just by walking in a room.

"Hi, how are you feeling John?" He asked looking between John and Virgil, no doubt noting John's sweaty skin. "What was so urgent Virge? I thought you wanted to keep things calm in here and then you have me coming running down while I'm in the middle of maintenance."

Virgil drew Scott to one side while he opened and rifled through one of the cabinets, checking bottles. He spoke in a low voice so John could only catch snippets. Like 'memory loss' and 'brain damage.'

"Didn't anyone ever teach you it's rude to talk about someone in front of them?" John asked, somewhat raspily, throat dry and tetchy about being ignored.

"You're right, I'm sorry John, I just wanted to get him up to speed." Virgil came back over, glass of water in one hand, several pills in the other.

"These two" he indicated the small green capsules he held, "are pain relief, to help with your headache. The round white one will help you keep calm. If you want to take it."

John pushed himself up slightly – slowly - feeling off balance and dizzy as he moved. Scott readjusted the pillows so John could lean back more upright. The blanket slipped down his chest slightly and John realised his wasn't wearing anything underneath it. John took the glass of water and the pain relief, he left the other one for now. He wasn't keen to take any medication he didn't need to, masking perhaps serious symptoms, but this headache needed to go.

"I thought you'd run all the tests Virgil" Scott was saying as John swallowed the pills, downing the water and returning the glass to Virgil.

Virgil rolled his eyes as he replied "I had. But somethings can't be picked up on a scan."

Scott sat on the edge of the bed, fixing him with a steady gaze. He seemed to be taking all this in his stride, barring some mild concern. How often had he seen people wake up with no memory due to skull fractures ? Was this normal?

"Do you not know my name?" He asked calmly.

"Scott." John answered.

Scott gave him a look of surprise and looked questionably at the Virgil.

"Because I heard Virgil call you. I don't know who you are though, I'm sorry." John admitted. He hadn't meant to make it sound like he could remember, like it was all just some aweful prank, but to get the right answers you have to ask the right questions.

"Right. Of course. At least we know you're still a smartarse." Scott said with a sigh and ….. it almost looked like he was making a move to clip him round the ear! _What?_

Virgil gave a soft snort of amusement, standing next to the bed with arms crossed, letting Scott take the lead now.

"What is the last thing you remember?"

"Waking up. There's nothing before that." _Nothing._ John took a deep breath, not keen to descend again into panic.

"Right. Ok." Though still calm, Scott seemed to be at a loss and looked to Virgil who shrugged.

"We can run a few more tests but the last brain scan showed only minor swelling and that had come down from the first scan we did. We can do some research though, find out where we go from here."

Research sounded good – he needed data, information, some cold hard facts he could evaluate.

"Ok" he said. "When my head clears a bit we can do that. In the meantime why don't you start filling me in on everything I should know."


	3. Chapter 3

_**So I've had a shit show of a day - lucky for you because that's meant I've come home and taken out some of my frustration on this, and here you have it a few days early. I hope you enjoy, please leave a comment if you like, don't be shy :)**_

 _ **Now where's the icecream...**_

* * *

"Of course" Scott said, "we'll tell you anything you want to know, only..." he trailed off and glanced at Virgil who nodded who rolled over a nearby chair to sit on. Sheesh, how often did they have those sorts of conversations-without-words?

"Only there's a lot to tell." Scott finished. "Some of it complicated, and it's impossible to tell your whole life story."

"So break it down for me and we'll build from there. Honestly I don't know how much I can take in at the moment but I need _something." Don't panic don't panic don't panic._

"We can work with that." Scott said and without being asked Virgil passed him some sort of data pad.

"Let's start with the most important thing, this:" he handed over the pad that after a few quick taps showed a photograph of a group of people. "Is your family, taken just a few weeks ago. Me and Virgil you've already met are your older brothers. Gordon and Alan" Scott was pointing "are your younger brothers. This is Kayo our adopted sister, Grandma, and Brains. He started out as a family friend but is more family these days."

They didn't name the only other face in the image. Perhaps they hadn't considered that he wouldn't recognise himself. If he was honest that wasn't the face he would have picked out of a crowd but it did seem right somehow. _That_ was him and _this_ was his family.

He noted that there were no parents in the photo – dead then. Or estranged. Somehow not part of the family. John suddenly missed them, though how could he miss someone he didn't know? He could ask his brothers – _weird that, brothers –_ but maybe later, he'd already hurt Virgil enough for one day. Instead he concentrated on the faces that were in the picture, all of them smiling and happy. They were on a beach, a holiday maybe with the sea in the background and a picnic in front of them. It looked like they'd had a great day: maybe they had gone swimming, or played frisbe. Maybe one of his younger brothers had buried someone in the sand when they fell asleep to be scolded by their grandmother. He could imagine sitting watching the sun seat over the ocean, wrapped in a blanket against the chill of an evening breeze, hair tussled and salt encrusted until the stars began to make their appearance. He could imagine it but not remember it.

"Where am I? This isn't looks like hospital but it doesn't feel like one." John asked, still not moving his eyes from the silent smiling images, wanting to make sure that he had fixed their faces in his memory.

"You're at home. We have really good facilities here because we are very remote – we believe in being prepared and we can't just nip to the local doctor. That and we like our privacy."

They were private and prepared – like some sort of boy scout? Or an end of the world prepper, ready for any disaster. Or hiding some terrible secret? Maybe they were a cult.

 _Get a grip_ John thought to himself.

"Who is 'we'?"

"All of us." Virgil tapped the photo.

Right... that was odd, he guessed. He felt old enough to be living on his own – these two certainly were – so why did they all still live under one roof? He'd have thought it would be good to have a bit of distance from one another, even if they did live in the same house.

"Does that go smoothly? All of us squished together?" he asked.

Scott smiled. "Most of the time. We have quite a lot of room and not everybody is home all the time. Like now, it's only us three and Gordon, the others are ….. umm... out of contact at the moment on a trip."

John raised a quizzical eyebrow at that and Scott screwed his face up slightly as he explained. "This is one of the complicated things that we are going to have to come back to."

"Ok. Well. That's fine. Right."

It had been his idea to slowly build up the picture after all, but it felt strange to be out of the loop on something.

"So, what happened to me. How did I get hurt and end up here?" he gestured around the room.

Scott and Virgil shared a small smile.

"You fell in the shower." Virgil said.

"What?" John was aghast.

"Yeah, we noticed you'd be gone for a long time – even for you - and found you out cold on the bathroom floor. We were a bit worried that you'd had some sort of seizure but there's no evidence of that, so we think you just slipped."

John was stunned. How embarrassing. He had apparently fallen hard enough to give himself a serious head injury by stepping on the soap or something. That sounded very boring and ordinary and...

"You look a little disappointed."

"Um yeah. I suppose I am." John replied "I thought it would be … I dunno, different. More dramatic. More interesting."

"Like dangling over a ravine or dodging meteors?" Scott suggested, his amusement clear as he leant on Virgil's chair back.

"No, nothing that reckless. But still, I've given myself some serious brain damage. I feel like the least I should get out of that is an interesting story." John frowned as he complained.

"Yeah, we never expected to have to rescue you from your own shower either." Virgil said with a shrug.

"Do I often do stupid things like knock myself out in the shower?" John muttered, not really expecting an answer.

"No, usually you're very careful when ... when here."

What would have gone in that pause if Scott hadn't corrected himself? It didn't matter right now. John was at his limit, couldn't take in any more information. His mind was already whirling with the fact that he had four brother and a sister: his eyes kept flicking back to the photograph his still held in his hand. That seemed like an awful lot – imagine the noise at the dinner table, the fights over the tv. As much as they looked a happy, loving family, he hoped he didn't have to meet them all at the same time. So many new people – even if they weren't actually new – would be over whelming.

John took a breath. "This is a lot to take in."

"Should we take a break?"

"Yeah, I think... I think I need some time to process this. And maybe some sleep."

Whatever those painkillers had been they were working wonders. Oh, his head still hurt, the dull ache of a fracture crept round his skull but the stabbing, needling pain had lifted somewhat. It had been replaced with a deep tiredness - perhaps helped along by that panic attack – that was now causing his eyes to feel heavy and his thoughts to slow.

"You ok? You look a little unfocused." Virgil asked with concern, glancing at the heart monitor that was still steadily beeping away.

"Yeah. Just... what were those pills? I'm starting to feel a bit spacey."

"Ha! Maybe you should get some sleep then. Drink this first" Virgil handed him another glass of water, which he downed.

"Good. That means that I can take this out." With great care Virgil took off the cables that connected him to the equipment, pulled out the I.v line, and put a plaster - that had space rockets on it, cute - over where it had entered his vein.

"Thanks" John said softly, looking at – his two brothers. He didn't mean for the plaster, and he thought they knew that. This must be hard for them too and he really appreciated their focus.

"You don't have to say thank you John, you look out for us often enough." Scott said, placing one had firmly on John's shoulder and giving a reassuring squeeze before turning back towards the door, dragging Virgil with him.

Virgil knocked the lights down to about half at the doorway, leaving John in a dim light that would be much more restful. "Shout if you need anything, we won't be far away."

And then they were gone.


	4. Chapter 4

_**You know what, you guys are awesome, just wanted you to know that. The ice cream was great.**_

 _ **I didn't fancy coming up with a whole store about how John got a blow to the head, so went with the relatively easy slip in the shower instead. Also please not I have done absolutely no research about memory loss, as I don't want boring old facts to get in the way!**_

* * *

John had a few hours fitful sleep – trying to get a position that didn't put too much pressure on his sore head wasn't easy, but the weariness caused by the panic attack won in the end. There were dreams – frantic and chaotic – but leaving only faint afterimages of emotion. Of fear, of satisfaction? Odd.

John sat up slowly, feeling gently at the tender knot that had formed on the back of his head. He couldn't help but give it a prod, and it set off a flashing behind his eyes that made him groan.

"Well that was pretty stupid." Said a voice.

Somehow John had missed that there was another person in the room – swiveling on the chair, bright red slushy drink in one hand, book in the other. The young man looked at him with a mix of concern and amusement.

"How are you feeling? Apart from having a huge bump on the noggin, of course." He gave his drink a long slurp.

"Umm... ok, I guess. Head is sore but otherwise... much better, thanks. Gordon, right?" John was pretty sure he was right: he didn't want to hurt any more of his family by asking who they were.

Gordon grinned- "Got it in one. At least you remember yesterday!" He slurped on his drink again, folding down a corner of his book in a way that made John's teeth itch.

"Yeah, at least there is that."

John hadn't even thought of that, and the concept hit him like a bucket of cold water that washed away the last of the blearyness of sleep. That he might have woken up to not remember anything yet again, that he might have to relive that confusion again was gut wrenching and nasuea inducing and all manner of disconcerting.

"Hey, don't look so glum, you're favourite little brother has been keeping an eye on you. Slurpee?" he offered the drink.

"No thanks, it looks like there are enough E numbers there to send you into another plane of exitance."

"Just because you are some sort of health nut, doesn't mean that the rest of like your wholemeal chia and spinach 'smoothies.' Speaking of which, do you want some breakfast? Virgil said that you could get up if you weren't feeling too dizzy."

Though not hungry a moment before, at the suggestion John's stomach rumbled, and he wondered what his last meal had been. "Some food sounds good actually."

"Here." Gordon threw a bundle of clothes at him, that landed on the end of the bed. "Do you need help?"

John swung his legs around, toes resting on the cool floor. For a moment his head throbbed, his vision swam and his chest ached, but that faded and John felt pretty much normal. Or what he assumed was normal.

"No, No I think I'm good." John said, dragging the clothes closer to him.

Then he waited. Gordon looked at him, still slurping away.

"You sure?" Gordon asked.

"Yep. I got this." John repeated.

"Then..." Gordon waved a hand, gesturing for John to get on with it.

John cleared his throat.

"What?"

"You need to go Gordon. Or at least turn around." John sighed.

"Seriously John?" Gordon was puzzled, as if he genuinely didn't understand while John wanted some privacy. "You were in the shower when you hurt yourself. Think about it for a second."

"I know, but this isn't emergency so you don't have to watch me get dressed.'

"Fine." Gordon spun the chair around and opened his book again.

"Oh, something that's really important, I should probably tell you now while I remember. Ha! You see there was this bet, and it was silly really. I said we shouldn't play for money but you insisted 'Let's do this properly Gordon.' You said. So we did. And what happened is a funny story, but you have to know the context so I'll explain another time. But anyway I ended up winning. And I don't like to do this but It's what you would want. See the thing is you owe me fifty bucks."

During this rambling John had eased himself to standing and managed to put on the underwear and three quarter length cargo pants without feeling too dizzy or falling over. He pulled the t-shirt - soft from wear and washing – over his head and paused. His lack of movement grabbed Gordon's attention who half turned to look over his shoulder.

John took in Gordon's earnest, innocent face. His open body language, the reluctance in his voice at having to bring this up. The way Gordon was looking at him right in the eye, sincerity beaming out of every pore. It stirred something deep in his soul, a feeling that he didn't really understand but that his instinct was to trust.

"Nooooo, I don't think so." John said. Gordon's expression didn't change. "I don't think I owe you any money." John thought about it a bit more. "In fact, how much do you owe me?"

Gordon dissolved into laughter and turned around fully. "Can't get anything past you, can I. Even when your brain is mush! You ready to go upstairs?"

John slipped on a pair of flip-flops and followed Gordon out of the room. They walked down a wide, metal-walled corridor till they reached a set of metal and glass stairs.

Gordon was talking again; something about the book his was reading, but John lost concentration a bit as he climbed. After the first half a dozen steps he began to feel out of breath and his limbs heavy; he barely made it up the other flight and a half. He had to stop to catch his breathe at the top, leaning forward, hands on thighs.

"Am I... really that... unfit?" He wheezed. "Those stairs... were hard... work."

Gordon didn't seem concerned at the panting gasping man besides him, and was waiting patiently for John to gather himself, reassuring him: "No, you're not unfit, you just don't usually have to climb many stairs when you are... at work. So when you come home it takes you a while to reaclimatise."

"I work in a place …... without stairs." John said flatly. "What am I, a …... bungalow inspector?"

"No, something much cooler than that." Gordon laughed.

John straightened, and saw where he was.

"Wow."


	5. Chapter 5

Standing at the top of the stairs, John barely noticed the spacious living area, the circular sofa, the desk off to one side, the portraits on the wall. He didn't take in the kitchen with tall stools sitting next to the counter or stairs that curved round to an upper level. He was unaware of the two other people in this large room and that they had stopped their conversation at his arrival.

All he did notice was the view from the large – taking-up-the-whole-side-of-the-building-large – window. His first impression was the deep rich green of thriving plant life: some tall, some small, with large flat leaves or small pointed fronds. There were shrubs and ferns and tall trees that created a canopy that rustled and creaked as the wind flowed through it.

Beyond that was the sea – blue speckled with white wave caps, surrounding and enclosing him, adding the sounds of waves breaking on shore to the gentle melody of the forest. There was no other land in sight and no boats or anything else to interrupt the view of an endless horizon that joined to a clear and cloudless sky.

The window – the wall, really – was open and a breeze rustled John's hair, bringing with it a heady perfume: the dark of the forest, full of growing things and flowers mixed with salt water and sand and rocks damp with algae.

"Wow." John said again, and couldn't help but take a step forward, as if getting closer would change what he was seeing.

"Eh?" Said Gordan "I thought they'd told you." He turned slightly and now addressed the two men in the kitchen. "You said you'd told him."

Conversation might have ceased between Virgil and Scott, but their movement hadn't- from one cupboard Scott was pulling out plates and bowls, adding them to a line of cereals that was already laid out while Virgil was rooting though a drawer of cutlery.

"We hadn't got on to the island part bit yet. You were meant to break it to him gently." That was Scott, sounding exasperated at his little brother's lack of tact.

"Well, maybe you should have been a bit more precise." Gordon moaned. "Remember what you told me last week 'If someone doesn't understand it's because you've failed to explain it properly.'"

John, however was shocked out of his reverie and tore his gaze to land on the others... his brothers... The forest, the sea, the fact that they were quite isolated – John took a leap in logic. "An island? How big an island. What's the population?"

Gordon moved in to the kitchen as John spoke, opening a fridge door that was so big it completely hid him.

"It varies, but right now population is four." Virgil said, setting four glasses on the counter top and holding his hand out – which Gordon filled by passing him a carton of juice.

"Wait, we're the only ones here?" John goggled.

"We did say it was remote." Scott reminded, opening a large bread bin.

"Yeah, but I was expecting maybe a lodge in the woods, or a ranch in the dessert with a neighbour the next valley over. Not our own sodding island." John moved closer, put at ease by the ordinaryness of assembling breakfast, despite the incredible view that he kept taking a peek at.

Scott's paused, hand hovering. "What do you want John? We've got sliced white, sliced wholemeal, bagels and... some sort of weird roll. Grandma made them so... they could be anything." Scott looked at his questioningly and John felt he was under the microscope: the other two not watching him so obviously they might as well have stared. Did he have a preference? Was this some sort of test, to make sure he had really lost his memory? Or a trick question – maybe he had a gluten allergy. John felt under a lot of pressure to pick the right sort of bread and he could almost feel his blood pressure rise under the weight of expectation.

He had a feeling though – like downstairs with Gordon – and once again he went with his instincts.

"Bagel please, if you have any cream cheese." Scott gave a small smile as he selected and sliced a bagel. A tub of cream cheese slid over the counter from Gordon's direction who emerged from the fridge with a large milk carton.

"Course we got cream cheese." He said, hopping onto one of the stools, "We got it especially when you said you were coming down."

"Coming down from where?" John asked, also sitting and accepting a full glass of juice from Virgil with a nod of thanks.

"Ah... you know... it's a phrase... 'coming down', 'coming over' … that sort of thing." Gordon shifted looking a bit uncomfortable.

"You spend a lot of time away" Virgil said "so when you're here we get in your favourite foods."

"Oooookaaaaay" John drew out the word, to indicate that while he would accept that explanation for now, he knew it wasn't the whole story.

"While you were asleep we did some research. I can show you the papers and refer you to the medical journals if you like, but it boils down to we just have to give it time. You being at home is the best thing as you'll be surrounded by familiar things which is going to help your memory come back." Scott said as he bought over a large wooden board with a variety of toasted bread, which they all helped themselves to.

John slowly pulled a lightly browned bagel towards him as he said "And if it doesn't?"

Gordon gave him a nudge "Now, no negative talk. You'll get your memory back I'm certain off it."

"Not everyone recovers their memory, true. And memory recovery in an individual patient isn't always one hundred percent. But yours was only a relatively small head trauma and we're not going to give up on day one." Virgil said as he poured himself muslie and drowned it in milk.

John pondered that as he tucked into his breakfast. There certainly were taking this all in their stride – no massive panics, no rushed trips to the hospital, no frantic phone calls. He supposed that living in isolation like this meant more than just having a room equipped as well as an ER – you had to have the confidence to use it if you needed it.

 _Where did they learn that?_ He wondered. It must have been quite an upbringing that three twenty-somethings were happy to deal with an amnesiac brother without immediately getting him air-lifted to hospital.

"So what happens if we get a call?" Piped up the youngest there, around a mouthful of cereal.

Virgil shot Gordon a glance that said 'shut it' but actually said "Then we answer."

"Yeah, but what if we all need to go." Gordon waggled his eyebrows in a way that was probably meant to be subtle, but actually screamed of a secret.

"Then we'll go." Scott said decisively.

"Even if we need to... you know... . _go._ " Virgil reached in to the fruit basket that was just beside him and threw an apple at Gordon- hard, but Gordon still caught it easily with a cheeky grin.

John sighed. "First, if you guys need to be elsewhere then go. I'm sure I can take care of myself. Second, if there's something you are trying to say without saying it then you could just tell me. Then we don't have to all suffer Gordon trying to be discreet."

"Hey, now that's hardly fair! I can be discreet!"

Scott ignored Gordon's protests, instead replying to John. "I'll put together something you can read in the event we have to rush off before we get a chance to explain."

That sounded very organised. John didn't know whether to be reassured that they were planning ahead or worried that it was necessary.

"So what's the plan today?" John asked instead. "What do we get up to on our very own tropical island?"

"There's usually lots to keep us busy, but that's all off the table until we get you back up and running. I'm going to write that thing, just in case we need to leave sooner rather than later. Virgil, can you give John a quick tour of the house. Gordon, you need to keep an ear out."

Gordon grimaced but nodded along with Virgil, clearly going to obey Scott's instructions despite his distaste for the job.

"But first, does anyone want any more toast?"


	6. Chapter 6

After breakfast they left the kitchen spotless – no dirty plates, milk back in the fridge and not a crumb in sight and with relatively little prompting. Scott disappeared somewhere and Gordon flopped himself down on one of the sofas, while Virgil gestured for John to follow him.

Virgil gave a concise yet thorough tour of the house: bathrooms, gym, tv room, though there was a noticeable lack of mention of downstairs. John was of course very familiar with the medical room, but he guessed that there was more down there that he wasn't yet considered ready to see. Virgil had just pointed out the way to get to the dock, where they apparently kept a small motor boat and was heading down a corridor in the upper level when John asked.

"So just how rich is this family? I would imagine an island doesn't come cheap."

"In general, you're right but this one was quite reasonable so I understand – there was nothing here before. Dad and Brains designed everything."

That was the first time anyone had mentioned either of their parentsand John noted the slight hitch in the sentence, a hesitation at the mention of their father that could only come with a recent grief. Now might still not be the time to ask about that though – with any luck he would get his memory back before he had to ask.

"All of us have bedrooms down here, this one is yours." Virgil was saying, as he opened a rich walnut door that looked like all the others, but allowing John to step through first. This was his. Apparently. Here would be the best clues he could get as to who he was.

There were the normal things – bed, wardrobe, dresser, chair – all built of no-nonsense but co-ordinating maple. Curtains and bed linen were neutral browns and the walls cream. _So far so boring. But it is quite calming._ He thought to himself. The décor faded into the background as he began to register the stuff in the room, and oh boy was there a lot of stuff.

Standing by the window was what appeared to be a telescope, covered by a dust sheet. There was a large full book case with mostly large hardbacks: if the few titles he could read from the doorway were any indication he was kinda into physics.

There was a small desk on the same wall as the window on which more books were stacked, a chair was tucked beside it in front of a floor standing lamp. Over the bed was a large picture of a space phenomena. An electric blue centre, crisscrossed by dusky orange veins sat in the void of space with just a few starts scattered on the background. A nebula maybe.

"So... amateur astronomer then." John said, drawing the obvious conclusion: his room basically screamed science.

"Not so much the amateur." Virgil said and pointed to two frames that John hadn't noticed as they hung next to the door. Certificates. A masters degree in astronomy and a PHD in astrophysics.

"Those are mine? Really?"

Virgil nodded.

"Wow." John was astonished – these were hard subjects and he felt a swell of pride that never reached it's crescendo as he wondered if it still counted if he didn't remember completing them.

"Virgil!" came a yell from outside – Gordon apparently had a strung pair of lungs on him.

"I'll go check what he wants, he probably got his hand stuck down the side of the sofa again." Virgil rolled his eyes in amusement as he left. John was now the alone for literally only the second time he could remember and it was oddly nerve racking for it to be just him in a room he didn't recognise. There was a growing tension in his shoulders and a headache began to creep up from his neck.

 _No._ He refused to be intimidated by his own home. Where to start? John studied the room, moving slowly around it Here was the sum of who he was - this would be easy, right?

He studied the books in the case, pulling some out – some were old and worn with cracked spines and yellowed pages. Flicking through the ones that were text books he saw notes in the margins, annotations on the diagrams and doodles of astronauts and rocket ships. These were well read, even if they weren't well loved – from his days studying maybe. There were other, newer ones that still had that new book smell and looked like they hadn't even been opened. Maybe he didn't have time to read or study any more. Then why would he have the books in the first place, so sit unread in a bookcase in his families home while he was off wherever it was he usually was?

He lightly touched the telescope, a ghostly form under it's dust cover. There must be some magnificent views of the sky from this island, it's isolation minimising the light pollution that would obscure many stars from sight in large areas of the world. John found himself quite excited for sunset and to put that theory to the test. A telescope would be a prized possession, except he left it here when he went bungalow-inspecting.

John took a peek into the wardrobe: there were a few shirts that made his head throb for a moment amongst an array of somewhat calmer t-shirts and shirts. Pulling the zipper down slightly on the two suit carriers revealed one black and one white tuxedo that had him raising a questioning eyebrow. Where would he go to need one tuxedo let alone two?

On the desk, sitting where it could be seen from any part of the room was a photo frame – digital as it was rotating slowly through a dozen or so photos. They were mostly shots much like the one he had been shown before – group shots with various members of the family. In fact the identical one was in there. There were a couple of lady in pink and an older man that John hadn't seen before but it was another picture that had him picking up the frame for a closer inspection when it came round again.

This one was older, a fair few years older. There were six children, aged anywhere between 2 and 12 at a guess, all frozen at a moment of varying stages of bad behaviour. One was blowing a raspberry, one crawling out of shot, one was pulling a face, one looking very unimpressed, one throwing an elbow at the one throwing a very over dramatic pose. He adults are what made John lose some of his strength and need to sit on the bed though.

The woman – blond haired in jeans and simple v cut t-shirt was reaching for the crawler. The man – taller with deep brown hair and a chiseled jaw was rolling his eyes in the direction of raspberry face. It must have been hard to wrangle the six of them into position for a family portrait like this, and it wouldn't have been a surprise to see their parents angry at the waste of time. John couldn't see any anger at all though, even with the eye roll they were both wearing broad smiles. He could almost hear the good natured admonishment. That this photograph still existed at all instead of something more stiff and formal...

This was really what he had lost – it didn't matter if he didn't know which tv programme he watched last week, or his bank account details. Loneliness swelled up, his heart beat faster and his head began to pound again.

Rapid footsteps caused John to turn, as Scott hurried into the room, talking as he moved.

"Look, I'm really sorry to do this, but we have to go." Scott paused, taking in the photo that John held and the slightly panicked look that he must be wearing.

Despite whatever hurry he was obviously in Scott sat on the bed next to John, his posture changing from urgent to something more relaxed and open. Scott gripped John's arm, fixing him with a concerned gaze.

"I'm ok." John lied. "Go to wherever you suddenly need to be." _That is more important._

 _"_ Don't try and pull that John, it didn't work when you were younger and it's not going to work now." Scott's eyes flicked to the photo frame – it didn't show their parents now, but Scott probably knew what was on there anyway.

"It's just my head hurts again." John hedged for something to say. It was even true.

Scott looked at him. Just looked at him. It was a look filled with expectation and patience and had the words just spilling from him within a few minutes.

"I honestly believed that I could do this, that I could deal with little chunks at the a time but it just doesn't make sense. Every single thing I learn just spawns more questions and I feel worse than I did when I woke up." John found himself saying, as a low rumble started to be heard and his eyes started to fill.

 _Damn._ He didn't want to break down again.

"Hey." Scott said noticing, "It's ok. This is really tough for you, don't feel you have to hide anything from me. It's a futile effort anyway: I can always tell, even when you're... far away."

"I'm just feeling so lost." John whispered, feeling an almost instant lightening of a weight he hadn't been aware he was carrying. "But better now. How do you do that?"

"Make you spill your guts? It's an eldest child secret. Gah, this is such bad timing. We're two down already." Scott muttered as he ran his fingers through his hair. "I can stay, the other two can handle it."

Whatever it was had to be very, very urgent for all three to rush off with just a few minutes notice. Something urgent, something important. Something they were shorthanded for and would be more so if Scott stayed.

"No, go." John was almost surprised to hear himself say that considering how he was feeling just a few moments before. He was almost surprised at the authority in his voice, as if he was used to giving orders and having them obeyed. He was _almost_ surprised, but it seemed right.

Scott squinted at his eyes, studying John. "You sure?"

"I promise I'll stay well away from the shower while you're gone, maybe watch tv or something." The rumble was intensifying. "You'll have to be quick to catch your ride, it sounds like the whole island is about to take off – what is that? Some sort of overloaded cargo plane?"

A ghost of a smile crossed Scott's face. "Oh, I'll catch up to them. Here." Scott reached into his jeans back pocket and pulled out a small electronic tablet. "Some reading for you if you fancy it."

John accepted the pad. "You wrote this pretty quickly."

"Actually I didn't." Scott replied. "You did, I just found it. I skimmed it and it seems pretty comprehensive. More comprehensive than I would have done but still, it's all in there. God knows why you decided it was necessary but I'm glad you did."

Scott stood up, moving to leave. "If you need anything, instructions on how to work the desk are at the back. Appendix 6 I think."

John thought of the textbooks that took up so much shelf space. Yeah, he seemed like an appendix sort of person. But who needed instructions for working a desk? Open drawer, shut drawer. Hardly rocket science.

"Go." John said again. There was another long moment while John was studied by hs big brother, but he passed whatever test Scott was conducting for he left with a casual salute and "FAB John." Whatever that meant.

In a few minutes John would be completely and utterly alone – that was scary, but at the same time would at least be peaceful for him to get some reading done.

John turned the tablet on – the screen illuminated with the words 'International Rescue 101.'

* * *

 _ **This turned into a much longer chapter than I was expecting, with the feels, which I don't really write a lot of, so feel free to tell me what you think.**_

 _ **Also, what I was trying to describe is the Crab nebula, because space is cool.**_


	7. Chapter 7

More than a few hours later Scott, Virgil and Gordon had congregated around one of the pods, sitting with equipment strewn everywhere and helmets off, taking a breather before they packed up. The fire had been intense and would have been tough at the best of times, and this was far from the best of times.

"Just goes to show how much we need him when we're out in the field. Just think how much easier it would have been to predict those shifts if John had been doing the calculations while we were dealing with brush fire." Virgil said, trying to wipe ash from his face, but only succeeding in spreading it around.

"Yep, I will never complain about him butting in while I'm working again." Gordon said, passing round bottles of water from one of the storage compartments. They all drank gratefully, the tepid water cool in comparison to the inferno they had been facing.

"I almost didn't come." Scott admitted between sips. The others two exchanged looks – looks that contained volumes. Virgil and Gordon worked together so closely and so often that they could have a whole conversation without even saying a word. It could be quite annoying at times.

"Well I'm glad you did, no way we could have done this as a two man team." Virgil said, obviously unsettled by the thought. "Was he that bad? He seemed ok when I left."

"He looked... well he had that photograph – you know, the one we were gonna do for Grandma's birthday, except after an hour we didn't have one decent shot of us all looking the same way."

Virgil frowned in thought. "The one Mum and Dad said was the 'perfect representation of our family' and sent off anyway?"

"Yeah, that's the one." Scott said. "He looked heartbroken. Can you imagine seeing that for the first time?"

Scott wished he could say he had fond memories of that day but for all his parents had loved it, it was all boredom and frustration from his side. Noisy younger brothers were playing up and wasting his time that could have been better spent out with his friends. He wished he could go back and change that selfish attitude, which is why Scott had never had the same fondness for those pictures that the others did.

"He'll be ok though." Gordon was inspecting the other contents of the storage no doubt looking for food – he was always hungry after a call out.

"Course he will Gordon." Scott reassured, trying to project a confidence he didn't really feel. Fires, earthquakes, runaway trains, malfunctioning equipment, space junk – all of these he had plans for. Plans within plans, back ups and contingencies. But this was new and different.

"Yes, he will, but he has no more than 24 hours worth of memories and then we just up and leave. It's going to be tough." Virgil was ever practical and annoyingly right, which it nothing to calm Scott's guilt. "At least he can't get into any danger on the island."

"Unless he goes for a swim in the sea," Gordon cheerily chipped in "and gets caught in a rip ride, or falls down one of the cliffs, or..."

"Thanks Gordon. That's very reassuring." Scott had a sinking feeling as Gordon reeled of the list of possible difficulties that someone unaware could get into. That wasn't usually a word used to describe John, but maybe this week things were different.

"But you missed my point." Gordon said, triumphantly locating a protein bar that he hastily opened. "I wasn't _asking_ if he was going to be ok, I was _telling_ you." Scott gave him a blank look, that switched to disapproving as Gordon continued with his mouth full, waving the remains of the bar as emphasis. "Has he said of done anything out of character? No. Not one thing. He's still our John, he just doesn't know it right now."

Scott thought about that. Really thought about it. He ignored the hesitant way John had looked at him when he'd first walked into the medical room, and instead thought about the way he moved, the way he had analysed this situation, the determined look in his eye.

"I think – and I can't quite believe I'm saying this – that Gordon's right. You should have heard be when he told me to come with you. He didn't know where we were going, or why, or how long we'd be gone for. He must have been scared with all that's going on" and didn't it just tear Scott up that his little brother was scared and he'd had to leave him all alone "but when he ordered me out – it was just like he was on 5 on the comms like he always is."

"I still say we should have called 3." Virgil said, but Scott shook his head.

"No, they're well on their way back from Mars, they can't get here any sooner – not safely anyway." They all knew that Alan could and would push the engines hard if he had to but that came with a whole host of risks and in this case no tangible reward. "And they would only worry in the meantime."

"Kayo's going to kick your arse for keeping this from them you know." Gordon contributed.

"Hell, _Grandma's_ going to kick your arse for keeping this from them." Virgil agreed.

"I know, I know." Scott gave a sigh at the confrontation that was to come. Kayo's may be more physical but Grandma's might be the more difficult as she never liked being kept out of the loop. He would have a couple of days to prepare himself for that at least, a couple of days to try and piece a brother back together and hope he hadn't shattered too much.

Virgil and Gordon exchanged another look. Virgil raised an eyebrow, Gordon shrugged and nodded.

"We can deal with packing all this up, you get back to the island."

Scott hesitated.

"Go" Gordon gave him a little shove with his foot. "I can see your blood pressure spiking from here. Go reassure yourself space-face hasn't fallen down a well or something."

Scott rolled his eyes – one day he was sure Gordon was going to make them roll out of his head: "We don't have a well."

"Still. He might have built one just to fall down it." Gordon started on his second bar.

"Ignore Skippy here and his talk of wells, but go anyway. He usually finds it easier to open up to you when you're alone." Virgil added a poke of his own.

Scott stood slowly, instinctively brushing dust and ash from his clothes though he was covered well enough that it would make no difference. It was true, John didn't like the thought of being overheard when he was having a one on one chat with the eldest Tracy. Privacy could hard to ensure in their household so heart to hearts were rare: no doubt John needed one right now. If Gordon was right and John was still in there this could be the best opportunity for a long while.

"Then I'll see you at home."

* * *

 _ **Just a little breather and then we will get back to John!**_


	8. Chapter 8

John set the tablet down and blinked slowly as if waking from a deep sleep – the kind that leaves you disorientated at the transition back to reality. It had felt like reading about another world, someone else's life written with confidence oozing through.

 _That was intense._ He stood and stretched, joints clicking after sitting in an immobile hunched position for hours. He rubbed his face, cracked his knuckles and eased the stiffness in his shoulders. John avoided looking at the tablet that he had discarded on the bed: the desire to read it again waring with emotional exhaustion. It had been a wild ride, that document, and the strain of reading was putting a thumping back behind his eyes.

Gaze darting around the room it all sort of made sense, the pieces fitting together. For all that brought with it some reassurance Scott had been right to wait, to not burden him with this all at once when he first woke up.

John decided to take a walk and ventured from his star encrusted room into the corridor, legs heavy as he trailed a hand along the wall. _That's because I spend so much time in space. On my space station. There's a readjustment period. After coming back from space._

Was that why he fell? Disorientated and suffering from space lag he lost he balance and took a tumble? Though you didn't have to be an astronaut to have an accident in the shower. Well he would probably never know.

 _Astronaut._

John stepped lightly through the empty house, relishing the novel experience of being the only person there. The only person on the island. The only person within hundreds of miles probably. His soft footsteps echoed slightly on the polished wood floor, covered by the faint sound of waves and wind from the tropical outside.

Without really thinking about his destination he found himself standing by what he now knew to be his father's desk which the instructions said could act as a secondary control and communications hub. Secondary to his space station. If he flicked the right switches he would be able to access all systems and he would be able to call up his brothers and... and what exactly? He couldn't actually contribute anything except distract them at a key moment: it was hardly a good time for a chat. The others: Alan, Kayo... well he still didn't know where they were, but it clearly wasn't a day trip to go shopping.

With a sigh he lowered himself into the chair and absently began rolling a pen across the desk top. 'International Rescue 101' he had titled it, but it was so much more than that. Yes it had technical specifications for all their vehicles, personal profiles including strengths, weaknesses and major allergies. There was a glossary of their most frequently used codes and abbreviations and a supplement of their top ten most rescued individuals. He had skipped that last part: it was a tad depressing to know that there were more than ten people who got themselves into trouble on a regular basis. That stuff was all very interesting and at a later point John felt that could almost enjoy the hours it would take to read every page and study every diagram. What had really stunned him though was the chapter titled 'Origins and Formation'.

This part wasn't dry and technical, this was personal and heart wrenching. In five short pages it chronicled their father's early career, his marriage, the birth of five sons, adoption of one daughter, the first meetings with people who would become essential cogs in the International Rescue machine as well as close friends. It charted the loss of his wife and the determination this uncovered to prevent a similar tragedy destroying some other family and the struggles that family had suffered when Jeff Tracy himself was lost.

Was that part really necessary? Why on earth – or perhaps why in space – had he felt the need to put all that in there. Though long gone John felt a rising grief for his mother and father, those happy people in the photograph that had their future stolen away from them. His mother hadn't lived long enough to see her children grow and his father had missed seeing the confidence he had installed in them bloom even in his absence.

Their lives might have been very different if their mother had gone a different way that day – particularly Alan who had been so young at the time. John found that he cared more about the effect that loss had on his brothers than himself - from the little he knew of them and the thumbnail outlines written in their bios John knew that they deserved better.

If she had lived would International rescue still have been formed? Would other people have died instead? A dark thought shadowed John's mind, his throat constricted and his eyes began to fill at the selfishness of it– if he could have spared his brothers pain, if he'd had the power to change fate he would have done: not matter the consequences for others.

A high pitched beep called out from somewhere on the desk and a small light flashed in the corner of his watery eye. Without any thought at all John pushed slightly on the corner of the desk and typed a six-digit code into the number pad that was revealed in a hidden compartment.

With his identify verified the desk sprung to life: several holographic displays popping up while the beep was silenced much to John's relief as it had been antagonising his burgeoning headache. John froze as he registered what he had just done. How had he done that? He really _hadn't_ thought about it, wouldn't be able to type that code again if his life depended on it. His muscles clearly had much better memory than he his brain did right know.

"This is Thunderbird One on final approach." blared Scott's voice from a hidden speaker.

"Acknowledged." John replied a little roughly still. It seemed appropriate.

"John! Hey, how are you doing? I didn't really expect you to be there, just force of habit." Scott said in surprise.

"I didn't intend to, to be honest, I pressed something by accident." Or on impulse, by instinct.

Scott hesitated a moment. "Did you read the whole thing? I shouldn't have just dumped that on you and rushed off... "

"It's fine Scott. I read it. Mostly. I skipped the details but I've got the jist. I have completed 'International Rescue 101' and am ready for my test." John tried to joke.

"Not everything's a test John." Scott said gently.

"Just as well really, I don't think I'd be much good at that right now." John admitted.

"You feeling ok? You sound a bit weird."

"I'm fine it's just there's just been a lot to take in. It turns out I was a bit brutal when I wrote that thing." Brutal might not be the right word – the writing was clinical but didn't pull any punches. It probably wouldn't have been so bad in anyone who was not finding out about the death of their parents for the first time.

"Brutal? No, that's not your style, honest probably." Scott said.

"Maybe. Anyway I'm not the only one who's had a rough day. How did... er... whatever go." John realised that he didn't know which specific type of emergency his brothers had been called to.

"It was tough. Tougher than it usually is without you around but there was no loss of life so it counts as a good day." Scott reported.

"Sorry bout that."

"You don't need to apologise, I didn't mean it as a criticism – how about we talk when I get in – I'll be landed in about fifteen minutes."

"Good idea. I'll see you soon." John sighed deeply, leant back in the chair and brushed a hand over his face. Fifteen minutes was just enough time to pull himself together and find some pain killers.


	9. Chapter 9

True to his word it was fifteen minutes when he landed and barely thirty minutes before Scott was striding in to the kitchen: Thunderbird One safely stowed, checked, refuelled, restocked, it's pilot showered and changed. John had been contentedly sitting watching the clouds rush across the expansive sky while he waited for the pain killers to chase away the last of his headache. He got to his feet at Scott's arrival.

"Want a drink? Something to eat? You must be tired." John asked.

"Nothing to eat, thanks – I need to wind down first, but I could murder a coffee if you are making one." Scott replied.

John searched out the coffee while Scott was making himself comfortable on one of the high stools that they had used at breakfast that morning – was it only that morning? A lot seemed to have happened despite the fact that he had spent most of the day alone.

"So how did it go?" John asked "any injuries?"

"Nuh uh. We are not talking about the mission, or the job. We're talking about you." Scott insisted, taking the steaming hot mug gratefully.

John was suddenly uncomfortable not quite knowing where to start, shifting from one foot to another as he leant on the counter top, and said as much.

"Start anywhere, with anything. What is most on your mind?" Scott said.

If John was honest, everything was on his mind. Due to the comprehensive nature of "International Rescue 101" there were a few questions that he could answer through inference: this all took a lot of money which would come from their father's fortune. Based on the biographies Brains must have met Jeff during their time consulting at NASA. There was enough information to fill in at least some of the blanks with at least some degree of certainty.

Scott sipped his hot drink slowly waiting for John to begin. "Go on, spill." he prompted.

"I suppose the thing I most want to ask is what..."

And then the beep. A bloody loud, shrieking, invasive beep that penetrated the whole room interrupted. For a moment the two men just looked at each other: Scott let his head drop back with a sigh of frustration. He set his mug down with some force and held up a finger in John's direction.

"Just hold that thought." he said, as he swung of the stool and jogged over to the desk.

John reigned in his irritation. It wasn't anyone's fault that a call came in just at the moment but it was starting to feel like the world didn't want this conversation to happen.

"This is International Rescue, what's your emergency?" Scott asked, opening up a comm channel.

"Aidez-nous s'il-vous-plaît! Ont été piégés." (Help us please! We're trapped) The line was crackling, filled with static or some sort of background noise that still didn't manage to hide of whoever it was reaching out for help.

Scott had a moment of hesitation before replying in halting French. With a flick of a switch a holographic globe appeared. One dot highlighted the location of the island, nestled in the pacific, one was the symbol of Thunderbird Two clearly en route home, and another in southern France must be where the call was coming from.

"Quel est votre emplacement êtes-vous blessé?" (What is your location, are you hurt?) Scott asked, opening up a text only panel to Two muttering under his breath "We've got to get that translation programme online down here."

John wondered closer, watching over Scott's shoulder as he deftly manipulated the controls, scanning the area and sending a schematic of a cave system over to Two.

"Je vous envoie nos coordonnées. Rien n'est brisé sauf nos rêves de spéléologie au centre de la planète." (I'm sending you our co-ordinates. Nothing is broken except our dreams of potholing to the centre of the planet) The man said, sounding a bit less stressed now his call had been answered and rescue was on the cards.

"Errrr merci" Scott said, screwing up his face and mouthing the last few words.

A few taps of the screen sent the information out to Thunderbird Two, and an acknowledgment came back from the brothers still out in the field – they would soon be on the way, more than adequately equipped for this mission.

"Veuillez répéter ce qui est cassé?" (Please repeat what's broken?) Scott asked, following the protocols laid out to gather as much information as possible before they entered the scene.

"Peu importe, j'essayais juste de plaisanter, je suis désolé." (Never mind, I was just trying to joke I'm sorry.)

Scott was frowning in concentration, struggling to understand. But it was crystal clear to John despite the static and the sound of rushing water in the background that must come from the cave system they were trapped in.

"He said the only thing broken was his dreams, he was trying to make a joke. I can understand French. Apparently." John said, crossing his arms in an unconscious effort to protect himself from this new development.

Scott shot him a stunned look and then broke out into a broad grin

"Yes, you can – you remember it?"

"Not really, I don't think I could string a sentence together but it makes sense."

"I've got the guys on their way, should be fairly quick for them."

He hit a toggle and the holograms disappeared, the desk returning to the unassuming piece of furniture that it first appeared to be and Scott beckoned for John to join him on the low sofas.

"How many languages do I speak?" John asked.

"Five fluently I think. Probably a few others to some extent, but you've got the most advanced translation programmes in the world up there on Five as well. Just a shame we don't have the computing power down here to run it in real time. But we weren't talking about that, you were about to start talking."

"Yeah." John took a breath as he sat. "I wanted to know what our parents were like."

Scott briefly closed his eyes. "Figures you would start with the hard stuff. Was it not in that manual?"

"The facts. But not who they really were. Maybe I shouldn't have asked."

"No, no, it's ok" Scott said, "We don't talk about them often enough really. Dad was... he was a planner. He had these big dreams but he also knew every single step on the way to get there, had it all mapped out, everything timed perfectly. He did all the packing when we took a trip and he was the one that organised the pantry. Mom was so, so determined – she never gave up on anyone or anything. We all learned various degrees of stubbornness from her. That and how to fold hospital corners on our beds because she could never stand messy beds. He liked mushrooms on his pizza but she hated them, so whenever we had takeaway she would pick them off her slices and leave them in a pile for him."

Scott leaned back and smiled as he spoke.

"Dad couldn't whistle, no matter how hard Mom tried to teach him. I walked in on them one day laughing hysterically blowing raspberries at each other and calling it whistling – they were drinking milkshakes but wouldn't let me have any: I think there was more than just milk in those drinks!"

"They got pissed on milkshakes?"

"Well, not blotto, but they were very merry. Dad wanted a dog but Mom was allergic. She wanted a cat but he hated them. The compromised and had a goldfish that lived twelve years. Except both of them, multiple times, found it dead in the bowl and replaced it without the other knowing, swearing me to secrecy."

John laughed out loud at that and once started he found that he couldn't stop. Clutching his sides and gasping for breath at the thought of a revolving door of fish and a young Scott keeping a solemn count of the fatalities.

Scott chuckled in response to John's laughter, but let him compose himself.

They say laughter is the best medicine and while John couldn't agree that it was the _best,_ he did feel a lot better. Tension had left his shoulders and his lungs felt clear. It was odd that he felt so much relief from knowing just a few snippets but it was much more comforting than knowing cold hard facts like date of birth. Or death.

"How do you feel about the rest of it?" Scott asked when John had wiped the tears from the corner of his eye.

"The world class, privately funded, independently operated, international and interstellar rescue operation? That's just amazing! The things you, well I suppose we, do. But the pressure must be intense to always make the right decision. How do you – we – cope?"

"Yeah, it can be tough" Scott nodded thoughtfully, "and there are days we cope better than others to be honest, particularly if there are kids involved. But most of the time we remember how much worse things would be if we didn't even try. I try not to count the losses. Only the wins."

"Does that work?" John asked.

"Most of the time." Scott replied with a casual shrug.

John didn't believe that Scott was really that complacent. Nothing John had seen so far painted a picture of a man who slept easily or carried the weight of responsibility lightly. But everyone had their own way of coping: as long as Scott wasn't bottling up too much.

"Feeling better?" Scott was looking at him with a particularly penetrating gaze, assessing and weighing.

"Yes, more than I was expecting to." John admitted, feeling a lot more grounded and centred than... well, than he could ever remember.

"Me too actually. I was really worried John, finding you knocked out like that. God knows what we do is dangerous but still, you don't expect it in your own home."

John could appreciate that and felt strangely guilty at the thought of causing such stress and worry in the place that was meant to be their haven from the dangerous they faced every day.

"And you're not worried now? Not worried that I'm not the same person who went into the shower? Because I'm bloody worried about that."

"Not any more." Scott said. "Gordon's got it right but don't tell him I said that or I'll never hear the end of it. You are still the brother we know: you like the same foods, act the same, speak the same. You know your I.D. code for the desk and can still understand the languages you speak."

John found that he was wringing his hands as Scott spoke, clutching them together, rubbing his fingers, generally fidgeting. Scott reached other and put one of his on top to still them. "There is no other person, there's just you."

John hoped that was true but feared that his friends and family wouldn't recognise him. There was a lot of pressure to live up their expectations. Okay, so maybe they hadn't actually shared any expectations but they must have them.

"How's the vision, by the way?"

"Fine."

"Need any painkillers?"

"No, just taken some."

"No nausea?"

"Scott. I'm fine. Honestly. Maybe just a little tired." Wrung through the ringer more like with the emotional ups and downs of the last few hours, but at least the physical effects of the blow to the head were fading and he felt a little less clumsy and heavy.

Scott gave a rueful smile, recognising that he had been firing questions at quite a pace. "Sorry for the interrogation but you guys have a habit of keeping things to yourself. I never get a straight answer if I just ask once." Scott give him a nudge with his shoulder. "Take a nap if you need to."

"I'd rather not" John said, despite his weariness "I don't want to have a screwy sleep pattern." And he didn't want to miss Gordon and Virgil's arrival – according to the specs Thunderbird Two's approach was quite impressive. John probably didn't get the chance to see it very often, and this would be the first time, in a way.

Scott stood up, stretched his arms above his head, then reached a hand down. John grabbed it and allowed himself to be pulled off the seat and to his feet.

"In that case I need to reheat my coffee and then you can help me prep dinner."


	10. Chapter 10

Part of this chapter I had in mind since the very beginning of this fic, and I'm so glad to be able to write it at last (several other fics and real life and Christmas getting in the way which is why it's been so long) but here it is! Some of this was inspired by a piece of stand up by Irish comedien Dara O'Briain about the movie 2012. Go search it out, I think it's hilarious and I think John would react in much the same way.

Feel free to leave a comment about what you think of this chapter :)

p.s. sorrynotsorry

* * *

Slow days passed on the island. One of the benefits of living in such beautiful isolation was ample opportunity for quiet contemplation. One of the disadvantages of living in such extreme isolation was being trapped in your own private echo chamber. When there was no new stimuli John found his thoughts chasing round his brain as he gradually became accustomed to this strange routine.

The four would get up at various times, but congregate for breakfast together. Gordon would have been up early for a swim, Scott would have been up late dealing with paperwork. Virgil would disappear to do maintenance or upgrades on the large hulk that was Thunderbird Two, badgering Gordon to join him. Evenings were spent cooking together and doing housework.

That was unless a call came through, and the three capable members of International Rescue would spring into action while the less capable John sat and listened anxiously. He occasionally was able to contribute – a suggestion, a feeling, an instinct that had always checked out but still...

John was mostly left alone, as if he didn't really fit into the usual routine. Which he didn't. The shape of his day to day life was – like everything else – very much a mystery but John knew it certainly wouldn't have been here. On the second morning John had discovered a set of data logs (they weren't really personal enough to be called diaries) that recorded how little time he actually spent on Earth these days, and how long it had been since he had spent more than three consecutive nights in his own bed. That would explain the weary feeling in his bones: unaccustomed to the drag of gravity that made him feel heavy and sluggish still.

Most of the time that John spent alone - which was most of the time - was spent reading those logs, reading case files, studying and drawing and redrawing the schematics for Thunderbird Five. The paneling, the wiring, the conduits: each circuit and system came under his intense scrutiny. This wasn't just the world's finest collection of monitoring and communication equipment, it was the machinery on which his life depended and his home. John felt a driving need to understand exactly how it worked and to know the placement of each nut and bolt.

As he worked John felt a creeping feeling of déjà vu. He didn't remember any of this - he really didn't - but at the same time none of it felt new. After spending yet another long night hunched over a text book - this one about micro circuitry – and a pile of diagrams of one of Five's systems and yet again feeling that he hadn't actually achieved anything John was becoming frustrated.

He couldn't rely on his memory to just come back with a snap of his fingers and was prepared to put in the hard graft to get back to being an effective member of the organisation. Even if it took years to relearn everything he once knew. Dull, relentless years.

John pushed back from his desk, stretching his back with a slight scowl. Completing this work was essential, filling his time a good idea but it was putting him in an increasingly bad mood. It was hard to match the easy comradery that the others shared and John noticed the occasional glance they exchanged when they thought he wasn't looking. Looks of worry. For him? Because of him? John wasn't sure.

All was quite in the house as John went looking for a distraction, the long corridors dark and silent. The others were probably still asleep, having returned from a forest fire late last night. They had headed straight for their beds but John had been too full of nervous energy to rest and had worked through the night. John was – yet again – left to entertain himself. He tried not resent that. None of this was their fault. He was trying to join in but just didn't get the jokes, understand the references or join in the reminiscing – even if it was reminiscing about last week. This was his fault. For falling over in the damn shower – further tests had shown he hadn't had a seizure or a blackout and the bruises that had developed on his hands showed he had tried to stop his fall. It was all just some stupid accident.

Sighing John found himself in the tv room – a giant screen dominated one wall: a collection of sofas, comfy chairs and beanbags covered the floor. He hadn't spent much time in here but maybe there was something to watch that would shake him out of his bad mood.

A quick hunt found the remote control and a few moments found John scrolling through a list of folders – seemingly pre-recorded programmes. He paused, looking at the names of the bottom five. Maybe his brothers weren't complete strangers after all because he thought he knew who would be watching the contents of 'Top Gun's Model Planes' 'Mechanic's Making Mess' 'Space Face's Geeky Space Stuff' 'Fine Fishies' and 'Toons for the Little One.'

John scrunched up into the corner of a chair and picked the first thing in what he assumed was his folder – a documentary by the description – and settled in to hopefully learn something new.

Gordon was, as always, the first one awake. He had spent too many years doing laps in the pool as the sun rose, determined to get his first training session done in privacy for a mere shattered sleep pattern and eternal jag lag to counter.

As much as he loved his family Gordon treasured the stillness of the house at rest and the ability to slide through cool clear water with only his thoughts for company. Not today it would seem, as from down the corridor echoed the sound of yelling. Specifically John yelling – usually calm but he had a very distinctive shouting voice that Gordon counted himself lucky to have only been on the receiving end of once or twice.

Gordon could have turned and gone back to bed, pulled the covers over his head and left this problem for Scott, but if there was one thing worse than John yelling it was John _simmering._ Yelling was good compared to the havoc John could generate having spent two days mulling something over. So Gordon dragged his reluctant feet to see what John was making such a fuss about.

Which was not any clearer when Gordon found him. John was standing in the middle of their tv room, blankets and cushions spilled around him. He'd obviously slept here last night. But now he was far from dozy, gesticulating energetically with the remote control at a frozen image in the screen while ranting something like 'that's not even how neutrinos work!'

Right. So how was Gordon going to deal with this? This really was a Scott problem, but Gordon was not a quitter.

"What's not how neutrinos work?" He started with.

"I don't know!" John yelled, rounding on him, his angry expression melting into surprise when it he realised that Gordon was standing not three feet from him.

"Sorry." John muttered. "I didn't hear you."

"Yeah, no wonder."

"I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't, don't worry. What's up?"

"Nothing."

"Sure. Nothing's up. Yet you spent all night here and end up shouting down the house. Try again and tell 'ole Gordo what's wrong."

John sighed and lowered himself back onto the couch.

"What's right Gordon? I've spent days trying to relearn everything I've forgotten and still have years to go. I've been trying to jog my memory by looking through my highschool yearbook but they're all just strangers. From my online shopping account I can see I have ordered and received somebody's birthday present but have no idea where I've hidden in. And then he- " John pointed at the screen "well, he's just getting under my skin."

Gordon sat on the nearest chair arm and rubbed his face, considering, before he opened his mouth and put his foot in it.

"Right then, one thing at a time. We are you trying to cram like it's finals? You aren't taking any tests you know."

"But I am, Gordon." John said, anguished. "Every time you guys go out. With Alan and the others on their way back from Mars. What if there was something I knew – something I should know – that I don't - that you need? What if one of you gets hurt because of me?"

"Nah. Nuh-uh. Do not start thinking like that John. We are all responsible for ourselves, for making sure that we have the information we need. Sure it's convenient that it comes in a brother-shaped package but if there's something we need to know we go out there and get it. Got it?" Gordon leaned forward to emphasise the point but John didn't look convinced.

"Even when you are not 100% you are still part of the team, still making a contribution – you translated for Scott didn't you? And prompted Virgil to look into that fault line a little more? That could have quickly turned nasty. No one person can know everything all at the same time, not even you."

"I've read the missions logs though. You rely on me and don't you think I'm unreliable at the moment."

"Nope. I know you would jump in to help in a heartbeat. If it makes you feel any better I know where your secret present hiding place is. I've been pretending not to for years but I'll show you later. Those people in your yearbook – I doubt you could have recognised them last month to be honest – you were already so far down the astronaut path at that point finishing school was just a formality and you hardly spent any time there."

"Not really, as once again, something I didn't know about myself."

"Oh, come on John!"

"Yeah, I know, a pity party is seldom pretty." John said, but he was slightly less glum than before.

"And not needed. I know all of that knowledge is tucked up safe in there somewhere, you just need time to let it come out."

"Really?"

"Yes, really. Take him for example." Gordon pointed at the screen. "You're annoyed at him."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"I don't know, but he is just... so..." John frowned and faltered.

"That man is Langstrom Fischler. You may recognise him from such programmes as 'I'm an idiot but also very rich so I can do so many more idiotic things than most people'. His very existence is permanently aggravating, seemingly only born for the purpose of keeping us in work. I swear you almost pushed him out an airlock once. Whatever he's saying about neutrinos or whatever he's probably getting it wrong and you can tell on an instinctual level how much hogwash he spouts." Gordon looked with some derision at the freeze frame of Fischler that John had managed to catch in a particular unflattering expression. He should keep a copy of that as it was particularly amusing. "I'm surprised you haven't thrown anything to be honest. And that's how I know you still know what you know. Even if you don't know that you still know what you know. I know it."

John looked at him blankly for a second, trying to follow Gordon's thought process. A challenge under any circumstance but even harder if John had been up all night like the bags under his eyes suggested.

"Gordon. That was. That was actually reassuring. Sort of." John smiled slowly, shoulders dropping and face uncreasing.

"Don't look so surprised, I've had whole _minutes_ of training on how to calm someone in distress. And I even listed to some of it." Gordon tried to pretend to be offended but couldn't keep a straight face.

"You know what would also be reassuring? If we went downstairs and had pancakes, I'm starving."

"Yes, I distinctly remember reading about the beneficial properties of pancakes. They're even better than neutrinos."

That got a laugh out of John, who grabbed Gordon by the arm and dragged him in the direction of the kitchen.

Gordon was feeling inordinately pleased with himself: he had somehow managed to solve a Scott-like problem with a Gordon-like solution. He had found John angry and self doubting, and now look at him! He was practically bouncing – ok not bouncing – errrrr _striding_. Striding along the corridor in front of him, eager to get cooking some tasty pancakes. At least he hoped John was intending to cook: Gordon was rubbish at pancakes. Better check.

"What sort of pancakes are you making me then, for imparting my pearls of wisdom? Chocolate chip I hope."

John looked back, probably to check if Gordon was joking or not. He looked back but kept on walking. As they approached the stairs that led down to the kitchen. He kept walking. Not looking. Kept going. And took a step that met neither floor nor stair, just thin air. And gravity took him.


	11. Chapter 11

For Gordon, that moment stretches, paused, and he is able to take in all the detail he could want and more. The sunlight casts a dancing shadow as it passes through the outside trees, patterns that are frozen in an endless cycle of formation and reformation. There's a bug crawling on the wall – some sort of cricket that would cause a racket during the night if they didn't get it out. And John's expression is stuck half way between a smile and shock, Gordon seeing the very moment that John realised his misstep and that there is no way to recover. Gordon can see it all, but is equally frozen, unable to reach out. Then time _snaps_ back, and John is scrabbling for something to hold on to. Gordon lurches forward desperate to find his brother's grasp, but their hands miss by barely an inch.

"Scott! Virgil!" Gordon is bellowing even as John is still tumbling down the stairs. Gordon doesn't waste any time following John, racing his falling form as it bounces to the ground floor. He's kneeling by John's side just seconds after he lands hoping he is not already too late.

"John? Can you hear me?" He asks gently. John has landed on his side and Gordon doesn't want to move him in case of spine damage, but feels tentatively for a pulse. He leans over to feel John's breath on his cheek. Good on both counts, but there is a smear of blood across the back of his head. Not a lot, but after the last injury... _ohshitohshitohshitohshit ._

"Scott! Virgil! Get your asses here NOW!"

That last must have done it, for just moments later the pounding of footsteps bought the other two to the top of the stairs – hair rumpled and sleep swept the sweat pants and t-shirts that passed for pajamas.

"What happened?" Scott demanded, as he and Virgil thundered down.

"He fell. He wasn't looking properly. And he stepped out. And he fell. And I couldn't reach him, couldn't catch him. He... Virgil?" Gordon asked, heart beating fitfully in his chest as he gasped out his explanation to where Virgil was examining John.

"John, I need you to speak to me." Virgil was moving his finger in front of John's face, and his now open eyes were following it's path. "John? John?"

* * *

John meanwhile... When thinking back later he could remember the feeling of hanging in the air at the top of the stairs, and being crumpled at the bottom, but thankfully none of the no-doubt painful intermediate falling. It was one blank he was glad to have.

Right now he could hear yelling, then bright light in his eyes, someone talking to him maybe. But that was all in the distance and muffled: his attention was elsewhere as John was seeing stars. Not in the cartoon sense of stars and birds twirling round his head. Nor flashes that might accompany yet another crack to the skull. Actual, real stars.

 _He had to take his eye from the telescope, just for a moment, to check he was still standing on solid ground. Using his own eyes he was safe in the backyard, Dad behind him grinning at his son's delight. When he was looking through the telescope though he was standing in the middle of the milky way: he could almost feel himself floating among stars more numerous than anything he could have imagined. It was like when Virgil had spilled glitter on the carpet the other day – the sweep of reflective particles didn't stay on the dark floor and got everywhere,_ _he was in so much trouble - but even more enthralling. Why had he never looked at the sky like this before?_

 _He was pointing out the constellations to Alan – the island sky giving an uninterrupted view that was rivaled in few places in the world. He didn't have many more nights before he had to go back to college and Alan had been bugging him all week for some star-spotting. Tonight was perfect – not a cloud in the sky, a bowl of popcorn by their side and a whole universe in front of them._

 _This was his favourite place on the station. If he turned slightly to his right he would see into the endless emptiness that was unfathomably full – the stars steadfastly untwinkling when not viewed through an atmosphere. They had never seemed closer, or so far away. If he looked to the left he would see the iridescent marble that was the Earth. Thunderbird 5 was currently in geosynchronous orbit with the island which meant he could almost reach out and touch his home and his family . Here was the perfect spot of perfect balance - head in the sky, heart on the ground._

John was disorientated for a moment – layers of faces and places stacking one on top of the other before slotting into place. Memories forming, then fading in to each other, in waves that blurred together. It was like waking from a dream but in reverse. Instead of the dream slipping away as consciousness dawned he seemed to gather in the threads of his life with each moment. As the visions cleared John managed to focus on what was going on around him. The concerned faces. The stressed tones.

* * *

Gordon watched with trepidation as John seemed to come back to himself – blinking slowly but gaze focusing relatively quickly.

"Virgil, go grab a back board and a neck brace from downstairs." Scott said, but John frowned said "Come off it, that's hardly necessary" and sat up slowly.

"I think I'll be the judge of that" Virgil was stern, but let John prop himself up and wasn't running off to the medbay. "It's a miracle you didn't break an arm or leg really."

"I'm feeling fine" John insisted, though his grimace promised that he would have at least some pretty impressive bruises.

"You were unconscious again." Gordon told him. Unconscious and still and looking like Gordon had _killed_ him because of pancakes. "Two head injuries in a week is two too many."

"This doesn't count – I was barely out. You guys get hit like this all the time and walk it off."

"Because we don't have time for a full medical in the middle of an operation." Scott said with some exasperation.

"And you get a full med check afterwards? Every time? Well, I'm going to start enforcing that from now on." John crossed his arms.

Gordon tried to hide a grimace, thinking back to all the times that he had received a knock to the head, all the times that John had kept an eye on him but kept it quiet. Trusting the tech to take care of them, trusting them to speak up when the elements had got the best of them. If John was going to start insisting on following proper procedure they may never be _out_ of the medbay.

Virgil leant in, waving a finger in John's face to check if his eyes could focus. Apparently satisfied he sat back and said "Well if you have no blurred vision or nausea or headache," John shook his head at each one "and you can move all your limbs, " John nodded "then I think you managed to escape a serious injury. Sorry. _Another_ serious injury."

"Today is my lucky day then." John reached a hand out, and Gordon pulled him to his feet.

"Sorry," Gordon said. "I should have let you look where you were going."

"And I should watch my feet. Don't sweat it." John shrugged, rolling his shoulder slightly. He touched the back of his head gingerly, and studied the smear of blood that came away. It had already stopped flowing. "I think I may need to clean up though."

"I still think you need an x-ray, maybe even another MRI." Virgil said, hands on hips.

"You should probably eat Virgil you worry too much when you're hungry and we were just about to make pancakes." John joked.

Scott squinted slightly, eyes fixed on John as he walked slowly to the kitchen and leant on the counter. Gordon joined him, dampening a teatowel that John accepted with a nod to press against his head.

"What did you say?"

"Pancakes. I was going to have some. Still going to."

"Not that, about Virgil."

"What? We all know he gets very stressed when he's hungry." Virgil nodded is resigned agreement.

"Exactly and - " But Scott was interrupted by a shrill beep from the main console.

"Er, This is Thunderbird Three. John are you there? I need you please!" came Alan's young voice as their systems recognised and broadcast a priority signal.

In a flash, all four were gathered round the desk.

"I'm here, what's the situation?" John said, calm and serious, bringing up several displays with an easy flick of the wrist.

"We're about twelve hours out from the atmosphere but I think something has disturbed an asteroid field and we have a lot more debris than I was expecting. Something is interfering with the sensors and I need you to help me analysis the shift."

"On it." John said, fingers flying. He glanced at several data readouts while simultaneously typing, created three graphs and bundled them with what looked like some sort of code into a file.

"That should help Alan" he said sending it with a wave of his hand.

"Let's see. That will do nicely! Thanks John, see you all in about twelve and a half."

That was incredible really, how John could be on top of a situation so quickly, even...

With.

No.

Memory.

"John? Do... do you remember?" Gordon asked, thinking how John knew about their narrow escapes and Virgil's hunger-worry.

"I think. Well, maybe. Err just." John leant on the desk, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment.

"Use your words John." Virgil said gently.

John did, slowly and carefully in typical John fashion how he was trying to sort out a sudden jumble of memories - their sudden reoccurrence being as disorientating as it was welcome. Gordon didn't care how discombobulated John was feeling – he remembered!

They had all been trying to keep up a positive attitude for John's sake, but the fear that he would never regain those memories had wormed deep. Facts can be relearnt. Skills could be refreshed. But the precious memories of their childhood – when their family was whole and happy – that couldn't be replaced. Neither could those visceral emotions of their first few missions together: those first flushes of adrenaline, the swell of pride at their first successful rescue, the horrified shock when it was hammered home that they wouldn't always come out on top. Those experiences bonded them closer as a family than anyone outside their small circle could realise, and the potential that one of them might have lost it... that had been the worst.

And now no-one would have to explain to Kayo or Aland or – shudder - Grandma why they let John get so badly hurt in their own home

"I still can't remember going for a shower, and coming down from Five is fuzzy, but yeah, I think it's all there. It's a bit confusing. But there."

"Well, if that's the only thing you've permanently lost then I think we can count ourselves lucky." Virgil said, still looking like he may well drag John downstairs for a full medical anyway, no matter how well he was feeling.

"Yeah, I'm very glad I can remember taking my NASA exams, I was dreading doing them again." John gave a wince at the thought. And as John in full study mode was painful enough for the rest of them – he tended to get short tempered and short of patience in the lead up to a big deadline – Gordon was glad of that too.

John had started to gather the ingredients for pancakes so the other three got themselves settled on to stools to make helpful, or not so helpful, suggestions. John ignored them all, not wavering from his tried and tested recipe.

As he watched Gordon considered that if John had recovered all his memories, then he should remember their bet. Friendly wagers between the family were not uncommon but Gordon was willing to admit that he let this one get a bit out of hand, and he really, really, really, _really, didn't_ want John to collect. Maybe that little event had got washed away with those shower memories.

Between beating the mix and heating the pan John turned around and caught Gordon's eye. The twinkle there and slight smirk told Gordon everything he needed to know - John remembered and he was going to collect.

Gordon suppressed a groan: sometimes brothers were the worst.

* * *

 _ **I rewrote this several times, it was almost 500 hundred words, and then it was going to be another 4 chapters, and then managed to find a middle ground - let me know what you think!**_

 _ **I do have an idea for that bet, and think it may form the basis of another fic so that this can get wrapped up, as I'm finding that I'm quite enjoying writing Gordon.**_


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